Knight of Shadows, page 15
They rode into a small town Gavain called Londgrad around midday. From what she had been told, the town was about a week’s ride from her destination, the city of Serret. The town was not an attractive place. The squat buildings were drab and unadorned, and the people seemed less than friendly. As they rode down the main path through town, they endured the suspicious stares of the wary townsfolk. Gavain pulled his wagon to the front of a place he called a general store, which was apparently where the people of the town did their trading. On the porch, a couple of older men were seated on either side of a small table set up with some kind of game. The two men eyed Azeria and Gavain with dour expressions.
“Brach nih!” said Gavain as he jumped down from his wagon and crossed the short distance to the porch. Then he rattled something off in Channerían that Azeria did not understand. The two men stared at Gavain and made no attempt at a greeting. Gavain cleared his throat and said something else. One of the men spit off to the side and grumbled a reply that sounded like a question. Gavain grinned broadly and gesticulated wildly as he spoke at length. Finally, the old man who had spoken rose to his feet and headed toward the wagon. As Gavain peddled his wares, Azeria’s gaze traversed their surroundings. People hurried to and from buildings, and no one seemed interested in approaching them.
It was strange to Azeria to be so surrounded by people yet feel so distanced, even undesired. In her homeland, people were always flocking around newcomers with joy and friendship. Although she admitted that Rezkin and Mage Nanessy Threll had not received such a welcome upon entering Freth Adwyn. Her people had been curious but cautious, and it was only due to Entris’s great compassion and sense of responsibility that Rezkin had not been marched through town bound as their prisoner. A great sense of sadness enveloped her as she thought of that time. She had remained aloof and even frigid toward Rezkin. She had told herself it was because he was a human Spirétua, destined for madness, but truly she had been overwhelmed by the feelings that surged inside her when he was around. She had finally made contact with the man from her dreams, and she had not known what to do with it. She regretted such coldness now.
She shook herself free of her morose feelings. Regret was a pointless emotion. Those events were in the past, and nothing could change that. She could not even vow to do better in the future because Rezkin was dead. He was gone from this world, gone from her. The best she could do now was to find the one responsible for stealing his body—the Raven. But what would she do with the Raven when she found him? She was not certain. She really just wanted information, and, if possible, Rezkin’s body returned.
Gavain concluded his business and returned to his wagon. He leaned over to speak to her quietly in Ashaiian. “Come, let us get a good meal. I know where a decent tavern is.”
Azeria nodded and together they rode toward the other side of town before stopping outside an unimpressive building with a sign depicting a spoon. The fare was edible but could hardly have been called good. Gavain occupied himself with chatting with the other customers while Azeria sat wrapped up in her thoughts. And inevitably, those thoughts kept returning to Rezkin. She had had a connection to him, a bond of the soul, and even his death had not set her free.
Once they were finished with the meal, Gavain spoke quietly with her as they returned to the wagon. “I’m afraid we will not be able to stay here for the night. The inn burnt down a few months ago. We will have to camp outside of town. I know of a place we can stay. It’s an old mill long abandoned.” He glanced at the darkening sky, “It will keep us out of the rain at least.”
Azeria mounted her horse and followed the wagon out of town. The mill Gavain spoke of was not far. Unsurprisingly, it consisted of a windmill, a long building, probably used for storage and processing of grain, and a barn. But none of that seemed important when faced with what they found outside. Bodies. Several decaying and picked over corpses were lined up outside in the yard. Scavengers had feasted on them, and it was difficult to tell how many there had been, but it was obvious they had been human.
Gavain said, “These look to have been here a few weeks. We should check inside.”
Azeria nodded and gripped her hilt as she stepped through the open doorway. Just inside the door was a table and chairs beside a hearth still filled with char and ash. Dark stains covered the table and floor, but it was the mark on the wall that captured her attention. There, painted in the rusty reddish brown of dried blood, was the symbol of the Raven.
Gavain jerked back, and Azeria tensed as he grabbed her arm. He tugged her toward the doorway with a firm jerk. His voice was full of urgency, “Come. We must go from this place. The Raven has been here, and he could return. We do not wish to be anywhere the Raven might be.”
Azeria shook her head. “I do not believe the Raven will return. These people are all dead, and there is nothing of value here. He has no reason to come here.”
“Even so, I would not risk it.”
Gavain might have been discomfited, but Azeria was thrilled. She thanked the gods for their divine intervention as she was still on the right path. Somehow, though, the Raven had gotten further ahead of her. Where she had only been a week behind him before, now she was two or three weeks behind, based on the state of the bodies in the yard.
She followed Gavain back into the yard and around the building. Gavain stared at the darkening sky for a long time, then glanced again at the bodies. His shoulders slumped, and he finally suggested they sleep in the barn that night since it appeared the sky was about to open on them. Azeria did not care for the proximity to the bodies, and if she had been alone, she might have opened a portal to almost anywhere else. Gavain had been a help on her journey, though, and she was not yet ready to abandon him.
Another week passed before they reached Serret, and in that time they were subjected to the deluge several times. It was a miserable trek but unavoidable. The city was a strange one with its many districts separated by guarded gates. The check points prevented the fluid flow of foot traffic and wagons such that each one became clogged with irritable and short-tempered humans. Despite her frustration at the delays, Azeria was thankful for the traffic. Each time she went through a gate, she was forced to use her amulet to appear human. The extended time spent between gates meant her amulet had time to recharge before she had to use it again.
They steadily made their way toward the merchant district where Gavain assured her he had contacts that could aid them in finding inexpensive lodging, for her anyway. Gavain did not want to leave his wagon for fear that someone would steal his goods. By the time night fell, Azeria had a warm bed in a private cellar room that had its own egress into the alley above. The landlady was a quiet woman who kept to herself and did not ask too many questions. Although Azeria was worn from the journey, she did not want to waste any time. The Raven could be in the city at that very moment, and she did not wish to miss him again.
Azeria left her pack in the cellar, electing only to take a small sack containing the box that had been entrusted to her as she skulked about the city. She ascended the steps to the street level where she remained hidden in the shadows of alleys and overhangs as much as possible. The nearly full moon cast its silver glow upon the streets, illuminating the path she needed to find her way. She started in the merchant district and worked her way south toward the docks. Many of the gates separating the districts were locked and guarded, but that did not deter her. Azeria approached an unmanned part of the wall and used her power over wind to lift her over top of it. Thanks to the moonlight, she was exposed during that time, so she cast her power a second time to cause a cloud of darkness to surround her. Anyone looking her way would merely see a dark smudge that they would likely excuse for a trick of the eye.
She entered a part of the city where stood residences of the less fortunate. The homes were small and tightly packed together. The windows had no glass panes, and many of the shutters hung askew or were broken. Laundry hung from lines stretched between the buildings where there was space, and no greenery was to be seen. Azeria stuck to the shadows as she traversed the streets until she found the public fountain at the district’s center. From there, she had only to follow the directions given to her by Guildmaster Attica. Azeria paused as she approached an unmarked door that looked pretty much like every other door on the row of houses. She was sure she had counted correctly, but there was no way to know for sure that she was in the right place until she knocked. She raised her hand to do just that when the door suddenly lurched open and someone came barreling out of it.
Azeria leapt to the side barely avoiding a collision with the dark figure. She reached for her sword but paused when she took in the person’s form and stature, which she could now see in the light of the moon. A young man who could not be called an adult even by human standards jumped back from her with a yelp. He said, “Pardon me,” then turned and took off into the night. Azeria watched the young man go before turning back toward the door. There stood a man who was slightly taller than she was. He squinted at her, obviously trying to make her out in the dark of the night.
The man growled something at her in a gruff voice that made her want to clear her own throat, but Azeria did not understand the language.
She said, “I have a delivery for you.”
“And who might you be?” he said, switching to Ashaiian.
Azeria peered at him from beneath her hood. After a beat, she said, “I was sent to deliver something.”
“Sent? Sent by who?”
“Guildmaster Attica in Kaibain.”
“I don’t know no guildmaster,” came the gruff response. The door started to swing closed, but Azeria’s arm darted out to stall it.
“Wait,” she said. “The roses are pretty this time of year.”
The man sucked in a breath. “They only bloom after a rain.”
Azeria withdrew her arm when she was certain the door was not going to close. The man grumbled something under his breath then stepped out of the way, beckoning her to enter. The narrow hallway beyond the threshold was dark, as were the rooms to either side, but she could see the warm, golden light of a fire at the end of the corridor. The man slid by her and said, “Come.”
Azeria followed him into the lit room, which happened to be a kitchen. A small table occupied what little open space there was, and a woman was seated there doing some mending. Her hair was dark and tied into a loose bun from which several stray strands hung loose. Her feminine curves were draped in a dark brown dress and white apron. The woman’s cheeks were round as she grinned at Azeria.
“Good evening,” said the woman. “Did I hear that you have something for us?”
Azeria set the small sack on the table with a thunk but kept hold of it. “You have good ears—” She stopped before she said the rest of her thought, for a human.
The woman hummed happily as she placed a careful stitch. Without looking up from her work, she said, “I have had years of practice just listening. You would be surprised what people will say when they think no one can hear them.”
Azeria was not surprised. Most humans could not produce a sound ward to prevent anyone from overhearing them, so they had grown accustomed to speaking freely without such an assurance. She had heard many things in her time with the humans that she wished she had not.
The man, who was hovering nearby, said, “She doesn’t need to know nothing about that.” Then to Azeria he said, “Just hand it over and be gone with ya.”
“Now, now, Herm. That’s no way to speak to a lady,” said the woman.
The man, apparently named Herm, said, “She doesn’t need to know my name!”
“Oh, you worry too much,” said the woman. She looked at Azeria, “My name is Maisey. It’s nice to meet you.”
“And you,” said Azeria as she pulled the small box from the sack. She did not bother to offer her own name. These people did not need to know it, and she did not plan to stick around any longer than she had to. Herm reached for the box, and Azeria reached for her hilt. His eyes widened in surprise, and he drew his arm back. Azeria said, “I will give you the box after you have given me information.”
Herm narrowed his eyes, “We aren’t in the business of giving away information.”
Maisey tsk-tsked and said, “Calm down, Herm. You haven’t even asked her what she wants to know.” The woman looked up from her mending and met Azeria’s gaze. “Well, what do you want to know?”
Azeria said, “I seek the Raven. I would have any information you have on his whereabouts.”
Herm let out a grunt. “No one seeks the Raven. Anyone with an ounce of sanity would do best to avoid ever meeting him.”
“Well, I am looking for him. Has he been seen in this city?”
“Yes,” Maisey drawled. “He made himself known to the guild last week. I couldn’t say as to where he is now.”
Azeria’s tense shoulders relaxed. She still did not know where the Raven was, but at least she was only a week behind him again. She was about to hand over the box when Maisey spoke again.
“We can let him know you’re looking for him. If he wants to see you, he’ll find you.”
“That will not be necessary,” said Azeria.
Maisey smiled coyly. “Well, now, he’ll be hearing about it anyway. If someone comes looking for him, that’s something we need to report, you see. I’m sure you understand.”
Anger sloshed around inside her, but Azeria did not allow these two to see it. Instead, she laid the box on the table and slid it toward the woman. She said, “Very well. Tell him that I require an audience. In two nights’ time, I will meet him by the statue of the man on the horse in the merchant district.”
“If you say so,” said Maisey with a lift of her eyebrow.
Azeria turned and stalked out of the home without waiting for an escort. So far, the Raven had always stayed at least one step ahead of her, and she had no way of closing that distance. She was out of direction—at a dead end. Perhaps allowing him to come to her would be the best way after all—assuming he found her worthy of an audience, that is. If he hadn’t known she was looking for him before, he certainly would now. Would he disappear altogether once he knew? Would he attempt to kill her? Or would he grant her the audience she sought? Only time would tell. Azeria would be prepared for every eventuality.
She did not return to her abode that night. Instead, she set an enchantment on the front door to alert her if it was opened then watched the house Herm and Maisey shared from the safety of the shadows across the street. Eventually, the light she could see through the front windows winked out, and Azeria made herself more comfortable beneath the eaves of the building. Then she entered eskyeyela, a form of meditation that allowed her to visualize the flow of vimara and hear its melody. The advantage to eskyeyela was that she would replenish her power, albeit more slowly than in sleep, and she would also be able to maintain some awareness of her surroundings.
It was just before dawn that Azeria’s alarm drew her from her meditation. Herm exited the house and began striding down the street to her right. Azeria was about to follow when the alarm alerted her to the door opening once again. This time Maisey slipped through the doorway before turning to the left. Azeria glanced back at Herm who was now halfway to the next street then turned her attention back to Maisey. Although their interaction had been brief the previous night, it was clear to Azeria that Maisey was the one in charge, and Herm was the muscle. Azeria slipped from her hiding place to follow the woman at a close distance. She cast her power about herself to obscure her image. If Maisey did look back, her mind would not register Azeria’s presence unless she knew exactly where to look. While the enchantment would not fool a Spirétua or possibly even a powerful mage, it was more than enough to keep her hidden from a mundane human.
The sun hid behind a swath of dark grey clouds as it rose above the horizon, and the air was heavy with heat and moisture that caused her tunic and breeches to cling to her skin. She much preferred the cool shade of her forest home or even the wafting sea breezes of Cael over these stifling conditions. She pushed her discomfort from her mind, though, as she kept pace with the woman, Maisey. They passed into the next district, and Azeria was able to get by the guards without using her amulet. This district was full of warehouses and other buildings used for processing goods. A slight breeze picked up, and Azeria could smell salt and fish upon it. As they moved past the warehouses, they came upon the docks and a large shipyard where the construction of not one but three warships was underway.
Maisey entered the shipyard and passed by the skeletal ships to approach a window that opened into an office. A man greeted her at the window, but Azeria could not hear what was said from where she was crouched behind a stack of lumber. She sent a trickle of power toward the two, allowing her desire to hear them to shape the power into the form she needed. Abruptly, their conversation became clear to her ears as if she were standing right there with them. Unfortunately, she still could not understand them since they were speaking Channerían.
Azeria cast her power upon her own mind and then sent it toward the woman. Once it had attached itself to the Maisey’s mind, Azeria could hear every thought that flitted through the woman’s mind. It was not a cast she would normally use. In fact, it was forbidden to use on a person without their permission, and it was not without risk. Linking with another’s mind could have unintended consequences, so she would use the link sparingly. She filtered out the woman’s errant thoughts and the fear that suffused her and focused on the conversation with the man at the window.
“I have a message for him,” said Maisey.
“A message for who?” replied the man.
